


Bound

by justakidfromabadan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Bondage, Lots of it, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, The Witcher - Freeform, and Geralt is the grudging recipient of Jaskier, and all that, and probably jaskier is a sub who kinda enjoys it, eventually there is to be some actual bondage, fantasy of gang related sexual activities, geralt is definitely not into that, i am not into that, i should mention this is an au, in which Jaskier is sold as a slave, jaskier only fantasizes but no he's not seriously into it, just naughty fantasies in general, there will not be any rape or non-con stuff EVER
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justakidfromabadan/pseuds/justakidfromabadan
Summary: In which Jaskier is sold as a pleasure slave on a market day in Rivia.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Bound

Jaskier has a vivid memory of his bondage from the day was sold into servitude. 

It was early spring with buttercups blooming along the mountainside. Jaskier did not fight his captors but let them have him, his head bowed, as they carried him to a covered wagon. 

His handling was rough and uncomfortable. He was made to kneel on his knees at the center of the wagon where some old rags, layered atop one another, served as his kneeling cushion. His hands were lashed behind his back, and the iron collar around his throat chained to pegs on both sides of the wagon. The chain itself was taut, granting him only a few inches of movement in either direction without the collar digging into his easily bruised collar bone. 

Though there was no struggle, they still had sent him with three strong men, all of whom could have easily apprehended Jaskier if he so much as thought of the word ‘escape.’ Their muscles bulged and flexed under his nose, and he kept his head bowed to keep them from the knowledge of his desire. A part of him wished for their strong hands to hold him down, to punish, to take what they wanted. 

But there was time enough for that where he was headed. 

When they were done securing him to the wagon, a dense black cloth of cotton was bound about his eyes, leaving him only a sliver of light. 

Of the journey, he does not remember much. He remembers the jostling of the wagon and the cold bite of the iron around his wrists and throat. He remembers the daydream of bandits, robbing the caravan and finding him, the sole prize, and taking him to their heart's content. 

The imagined humiliation, Jaskier knows, has always been easier than the truth of his servitude. Desire, at least, gave him the illusion of control he had never possessed. 

They rode all day. From the upward slant of the wagon, he guessed their destination to be west towards Sodden. The wagon stopped around when Jaskier thought would be dusk, and as they took off his blindfold, he saw that he was correct in his estimation.

Their humble caravan camped in a valley west of some mountains, which must have been the Amell. They had halted in a clearing, ringed with trees three or four times Jaskier's height. Though the sun had long parted, the cloudless sky was still brushed with strokes of soft lavender and bold fuchsia, and a few stars bejeweled the early evening sky. 

Jaskier was led into the camp by his chain, hands still lashed, and made to kneel by the fire. His chains were driven into the soft earth, held by long nails, and again Jaskier found himself unable to rise or move in either direction without immense discomfort. 

Two other men came back with game, which they began to skin for preparations over the fire. 

Jaskier looked from one man to the other. They all wore leathers and armor, though their make was certainly not of Cintra. 

"So," Jaskier said into the thick silence, glad for not being gagged. "Do any of you gentleman fancy a song?" 

Their eyes bore into Jaskier, and he swallowed. 

"I can play the lute," Jaskier offered with some amount of hope when none of them answered him. 

One of the men closest to Jaskier spoke, his accent hinting at Nilfgaard. "Where you go, whore, you will not need the lute to please." 

They all laughed then, and it sounded foreign, like the deep cawing of an unkindness of ravens. The sound made Jaskier's skin crawl and his blood run cold. 

Jaskier said nothing else after that. They untied his hands to allow him to eat, and he was allowed to relieve himself after dinner, but afterwards, he was confined to his wagon again, forced to sleep upright for his chains. 

It went like this for seven days and seven nights with the only difference being the scenery in which Jaskier was presented every time his blindfold was taken from him. The valley eventually led to hills, then a river, then a vast field, before at last they came upon gates on the last day.

Jaskier would not have known that if not for the voices outside the wagon, insisting in commons to search the wagon. The canvas to his wagon must have been parted for Jaskier found sunlight seeping under the thin layer of his frayed clothes and warming him.

The wagon rocked under the weight of another person climbing. His chin was taken in someone’s hand before his blindfold was yanked off, and Jaskier blinked blearily and his vision focused on a guard examining him. She had beautifully rusted hair, the braid resting over shining, plated armor. A sharp spear glinted in her strong grip, and Jaskier remembers trembling at her hand despite himself.

She nodded to herself when he passed her inspection, shouting for the gates to be raised and hopping off the wagon. Her accent, he noted, was unfamiliar to him.

No one bothered to secure his blindfold again, but there was no need for it. The sounds of a bustling city betrayed their whereabouts, though Jaskier did not know which city they traversed.

It was the first civilization he had seen since his captivity in Cintra. The patterns of speech and intonations of commons were strange to him, and he was sure he had never traveled this far west. 

Jaskier expected a full day’s ride ahead, but the wagon stopped shortly after clearing the gates, and Jaskier was shoved out onto a wooden dais in what appeared to be a busy market square. He was forced to kneel again, his chains secured somewhere behind him.

He looked about him, attempting to identify the city, and he found himself to be among a dozen others, also kneeling, bound, and chained by handlers of their own on the dais. 

The reality of the situation dawned on Jaskier slowly, and the truth of it was heavy on his chest.

He was to be auctioned at a slave market.


End file.
